


The City Swindlers

by Sebbing_in_the_Corner



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Early 20th Century, Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Con Artists, F/F, Hawke Has A Twin, M/M, Marian is practically Prof. Harold Hill, Purple Hawke, Red Hawke, Shameless Music That Will Grab Your Son, The Sting AU, Ya Got Trouble, ragtime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 08:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11077932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sebbing_in_the_Corner/pseuds/Sebbing_in_the_Corner
Summary: No one's worse trouble than the Hawke twins, though they might tell you otherwise. Meet Garrett and Marian, con-artists and pick-pockets, if anything. With their crew, that includes their more innocent younger twin siblings, the pair is out to make more than just a buck.





	The City Swindlers

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! This is not my first work, and I've written plenty of stuff without publishing. That includes a future chapter to this work. I'm open to any and all forms of criticism.

The soiree was going swell. The sounds of easy conversation and piano ragtime filled the big hall, and there were enough people there to definitely fill it. The people were Orlesian nobles- the most of them at the leas-, and each was dressed according to the established fashion; suits, ties and bow ties alike, and pretty sleek gowns. And one man in particular was dressed just the same, but his place in the party was more off to the side.  
Garrett Hawke was leaning against one of the grand room’s many pillars. His demeanor was calm, but inside he was panicking.  
Where the hell is Varric, he thought urgently.  
He pulled up his sleeve and cautiously checked his watch for the third time now, hoping he hadn’t just given himself up to one of the many Orlesian nobles at the ball. They were always inspecting, making it harder for men like him to be present. Men who admittedly had tells.  
11 o’clock, he saw.  
Damn.  
Garrett pushed off from the pillar and began to walk through the crowd as a new song began, different from the others.  
No, it was very different.  
The crowd began to split as a small assembled orchestra gathered on the distant stage. He heard the violins tune accordingly when a gentle hand fell on his shoulder.  
“Dance with me, will you?” its voice asked. Garrett turned to see Marian, dressed formally like himself in a neat black tuxedo suit. Her raven black hair, which was just longer than his own, was oiled back behind her ears, and she wore her annoying smirk as usual. The one she often wore often when she knew Garrett was anxious.  
Marian raised her hands in offering, gesturing to be the lead as if to mock him. Garrett knew it’d be the best way to converse, to talk while the music played and all were dancing. Less eyes would be on the two, rather on the bowed strings and knocked keys.  
Garrett accepted her offer, following her lead, and the two fell into the rhythm that all the other nobles held. For a time neither spoke, and instead glazed their eyes over the crowd of those watching at the side.  
Along the crowd, Garrett saw countless people dressed similarly. Most men wore tuxedos like himself with a neat bow tie and many women wore dresses varying in length and color. The servants, elven and human, walked about with trays holding glasses of wine or champagne, wearing their own neat assortment of formal wear; plain dress shirts unaccompanied by suit jackets. What Garrett had heard of Orlais a long time ago was the fashion was more strict, and that nobles would take it upon themselves to dress most fabulously. That didn’t seem like the case any more.  
The silence between the two broke when Garrett murmured, with gritted teeth, “You were supposed to be outside with the others.”  
Marian turned her head to him with an apologetic smile. “Yes I was.”  
“How did you botch the plan this time, sister?”  
Marian tisked.  
“Brother, we came prepared,” she said, “stealing family jewels is never easy. Plan on top of plan, in case the other went wrong. I think we were successful.”  
Garrett shook his head slightly and bit on his tongue. Family jewels. She kept persisting to call it that.  
He looked to her again as she raised her hand to spin him. He spinned, hardly attempting elegance, and the two fell back into the rhythm.  
“And Varric?”  
“He’s outside,” she replied cooly, “we thought it better to make the switch.”  
“Fantastic…”  
The two continued dancing until the orchestra came to their crescendo and ended off. They broke apart and Garrett eagerly walked to the side. Marian followed. He never liked Orlesians, and they’re songs. What they pretentiously called ‘tone poems.’  
A handsome dark man Garrett spotted at the stage resumed his piano music, and the atmosphere fell back into one more to Garrett’s comfort.  
Garrett and Marian leaned against a pillar, next to one another.  
“So do we have it then?” Garrett asked silently.  
“‘Do we have it?’ Of course we have it, Garrett, “she mocked. “Maker, do you have that little of faith in us?”  
Garrett nodded. “A bit.”  
She added, “But we can’t be seen leaving… and boy do we need to do it now.” Marian tapped Garrett's shoulder and drew his attention to four men who had just entered the grand ballroom. They wore heavy blue uniforms that covered them whole. Their heads were topped with officers’ caps, on the center of each was an ornamental star. They looked around across the whole expansive dance hall.  
“And just when I was getting comfortable,” Garrett remarked dryly.  
“So you can joke,” she uttered, and pulled his arm, leading him towards the balcony outside the hall. The crowd around them seemed slightly perturbed by the new presence as the officers split up and began breaking through clusters of people. Garrett saw each one had their batons at their side, at the ready.  
Marian led him out onto the large balcony and she let go and looked over the edge.  
“Good thing we have an emergency plan,” he heard her mutter.  
She looked over to him. He was watching the officers quickly progress through the room. They knew what they were looking for- who they were looking for.  
“Come on,” Marian beckoned, pulling at his coat sleeve, “we’re leaving this way.”  
She propped herself over the marble balcony edge and looked at him expectantly.  
Garrett looked to her, surprised, and before he could object, yelling, she pushed herself off the edge.  
He chased off to the balcony edge, heard a plop. He looked over the balcony and saw her laughing whimsically on a pile of hay on the back of a truck. But, what pervaded his sight was the distance from the ground.  
Garrett pushed off from the balcony edge, shaking his head all dizzy. He stood on the balcony still. He hated heights. She knew it. She knew he hated heights.  
He looked up again after hearing shouts from inside and saw the four officers, gathered outside from the crowd and looking right at him.  
The man yelled something indistinguishable to Garrett. Must’ve been Orlesian. He raised his baton though, pointing at Garrett. Garrett knew what that meant, at least.  
“Shit, shit,” Garrett cursed, and he turned back around quickly. He paced eagerly to the edge of the balcony and lifted both legs over the edge carefully. He saw them progressing towards him in just the same pace.  
“He’s gonna jump!” a guard must have yelled because it made many of the party-goers look over, curious as to what was the cause of all the racket. They must’ve been entertained, though, Garrett mused to himself. It was the biggest clamor that night.  
They were well near him when Garrett silently prayed with his eyes closed.  
“Maker… please don’t hate me too much.”  
And he pushed off from the edge, from the same place Marian dropped.  
He peaked his eyes open and watched as one of the guards tried and fail at grabbing him. In a mix of both quickness and slowness, Garrett felt himself fall from the balcony height.  
It was hardly a second later that he hit the truck’s pile, all the way onto something much more firm than a stack of hay.  
“Get the hell… off me,” Marian demanded weakly from under Garrett.  
Garrett turned to see his sister pushed deep into the hay under him. He chuckled to himself and got off her as the truck began to drive away from the grand Orlesian hall and through the cobblestone streets of Val Royeaux.  
Garrett crawled through the hay top to the truck’s back window and saw the two men in the seats. To the left, driving stiffly was Carver and to the right, sitting comfortably with his shoes on the dashboard was Varric. Varric was smiling, playing with a toothpick in his teeth.  
“So, you two made it,” Garrett noted.  
Varric turned to him and gave a laugh.  
“I’d think so. You’re brother here’s obviously happy to see you.”  
Garrett nodded and Marian squeezed herself right next to him to look at the two up front through the opened window. She did so as if she wasn’t just crushed by Garrett’s weight, by childishly pushing against him.  
“Not even a hello Carver?”  
Carver shook his head with a frown, focused on the road he was driving through. “Hello,” he deadpanned.  
Marian laughed to herself, “Wonderful.”  
Her laughing stopped when she reached for her head to find nothing.  
“Shit! My hat!” She yelled. She turned around and began to dig through the hay.  
He laughed for the first time that night. “You must’ve left it in the hall. When you came to me you weren’t wearing it.” If he were to be honest, he was bloody thankful she lost the damn bowler. It was stupid.  
Marian continued sifting through the haystacks and turned to him with an angry look.  
“Not funny.”  
Garrett heard Varric chuckle up front. “Not to worry, sister Hawke, I have it right here.” He raised his hand inside holding the bowler hat.  
She must have heard him well over the car motor because she darted to the side window and put her hand in, opened expectantly.  
Varric gave it easily, readjusted his posture, then sat back into his lazy position.  
Garrett chuckled again and Marian sat herself back down against one of the taller haystacks as she fitted the light brown hat onto her head. It hardly matched her suit, which slightly frustrated Garrett. She was far too attached to it.  
Garrett looked back on the roads they were traversing and back to the front. The truck rattled endlessly on the cobblestone streets.  
“I was expecting more officers,” he yelled loud enough for Varric to hear.  
Varric looked back to him. “Nah, the Duchess wouldn’t send too many,” Varric responded, “it’d be too embarrassing to fuss over some family jewels.”  
In the distance, they heard police sirens.  
“Or maybe not…”  
“They are her jewels,” Marian yelled. “To lose those would be embarrassing as well.” She was tracing the brim of her cap.  
The truck broke onto an intersection, and once they past, they saw two heavy police cars, sirens loud, following them.  
“Shit,” Marian and Garrett said in unison.  
Varric looked back, through the window, at the two automobiles following close behind. He turned to Carver.  
“We need to get ahead of them. Way ahead of them.”  
“Well I can’t do that with them on me like this,” Carver let out, frustrated. His eyes were still glued to the road, his large back hunched over the wheel, as he swerved onto the next avenue.  
“You can’t be serious,” Varric shook his head, frustrated, more at the cops than Junior. Carver shrugged his shoulders, his gloved hands still tight on the wheel.  
“You want us to handle this?” Garrett asked.  
Varric grabbed his gloves from the front compartment, pulling them on hastily. He looked back to Garrett, telling, “Well, I’m not bringing Bianca out just yet.”  
Garrett nodded and got up. He turned to Marian, who was eying the two following cars with a frown.  
She looked to him as he came right next to her with the same look of frustration.  
“Let me guess,” she pointed lazily to the cars, “our job?”  
He raised a question. “You still have those knives?”  
Marian pulled her suit coat off by the lapels, and tugged out three small throwing knives from between the fabrics of her waistcoat. She raised them up in her knuckles as an answer to his question.  
“Good,” he said. She turned to the two cars. Both were kneeling when she brought one knife up, shining, with her left hand at the ready. Garrett watched intensely as she squinted her sight at the automobiles.  
She pulled back her arm and launched one. It flew recklessly down towards the base of the car, then flicked off harmlessly from the car, just nicking the bumper.  
She cussed under her breath, and brought another knife at the ready.  
“Anything you could do?”  
Garrett shook his head. “Nothing I could do unless we want every member of the Orlesian armed forces on our asses.”  
Marian laughed, admonished him, “Such harsh language.” She threw another knife at the following police car. Using some serpentine method, the police driver knocked the knife off from its path.  
Their car swerved onto another road, and three cars added to the two of them following.  
“Shit!” Her head fell back. “Well, now you have to do something.”  
Garrett shook his head again.  
The avenue they were on now was bigger, a two lane road. On the sides were small market stalls. Only Val Royeaux would have market stalls running into the night. Garrett noticed that there were more elves around here.  
Garrett knew the area. They were nearing the rendezvous point. But they weren’t quite at the Alienage just yet.  
Marian threw her last knife and it successfully plugged itself into one of the police car’s front tires. The car swerved to the side the knife hit, smashing into the street side wall where there was thankfully no market stall.  
She turned to him expectantly, raising her arms in a shrug. “Well…” she said.  
He shook his head, pursing his lips. It’s a charm that none of them have shot yet.  
Before Garrett made his decision, they heard yelling from up front. They lowered themselves and saw Varric prop himself onto the car door's opened window sill, with an intense rifle harnessed in his arms. He was wearing goggles over his face and his hair was pulled back into a tighter than usual ponytail. On his torso he was wearing nothing but a dress shirt and waistcoat, like Marian.  
“Let’s finish this, right Bianca?” He yelled, laughing.  
He pulled the trigger twice, sending the two bullets accurately right into the first car’s two front tires. The vehicle stopped abruptly with a scrape and the car behind crashed into its back bumper.  
The other three cars navigated around the mess and followed them, still not too far behind. Garrett saw pistols raise from the car’s side windows as well, and Garrett instinctively pulled Marian down with him below the haypile.  
The two heard bullets going off and felt the truck swerve around another car and turn left.  
There must have been closing in own the Alienage by then. He raised his head, as did Marian, to see Varric still shooting from the car window. They turned back to see one car left behind them followed then by a whole sum of police cars turning into the street in the distance.  
Pulling the trigger again, Varric sent another shot from Bianca right through the front police car window. It hit it’s mark, right into the meat of the man’s shoulder.  
The police car abruptly stopped, and the officer shouted in pain, holding the wound. There were cars close and following.  
Varric laughed, impressed by his own shot. He hauled himself heavily back into the car.  
The truck turned right this time, out of sight of the many cars far behind them. And it abruptly stopped and reversed into what was an open warehouse. As soon as they were fully inside the warehouse, the big sliding doors were shut closed quickly by what Garrett made out to be a few poorly dressed elves.  
Carver parked the truck well inside the big stockroom, and the two up from exited from their car doors.  
Marian and Garrett hopped off from the back, and the two dusted hay off themselves. Garrett turned to see Varric hobble on over to a crate and sit himself on it. He was holding tightly at his side, where his waistcoat looked to be soaked in blood. Garrett quickly paced over to the dwarf, as did Marian and Carver.  
“Varric, when did this happen?” Garrett asked as he knelt by his side.  
Varric winced in pain. Marian and Carver looked at him worriedly.  
“Just… just get your boyfriend, Hawke,” he rasped.  
Marian said, “No story, Varric? Maybe bullets are healthier than I thought.”  
Garrett turned to look at Carver steadily. “Get Anders,” Garrett barked, and Carver ran off without complaining. Character growth, Garrett thought to himself.  
Just a moment later, Carver came back with Anders who was at the ready, wearing a dark brown apron with his shirt sleeves pulled up. His hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and he was wearing his neat circular glasses as he usual. A healer was always needed, but Garrett had admitted to himself a while back that this one was wanted.  
Without greeting them, Anders called quickly to Garrett, “Bring him onto my medical desk. It’s best to have his body laid out when I do this.”  
Garrett picked up Varric, causing the dwarf to seeth. With the dwarf in his arms, Garrett followed Anders to the room off the side, and placed Varric on the table Anders gestured to.  
Varric stirred constantly as the medic set his tools up besides the dwarf.  
Once it was all ready, Anders began plucking at Varric’s wound, until he pulled the metal pellet out. Varric cursed loudly as he did, and declined Anders’ offer for something to chew on.  
Once the bullet was out, Anders brought out his sewing kit. He brought the needle and thin twine besides Varric’s skin, examined the area, and began sewing the wound shut carefully. Once done, he pulled his tools away and looked proudly at his handiwork.  
“Gotten’ pretty good at fixing bullet wounds.”  
Varric got up, and pushed himself off the desk, holding at his side.  
“Better?” Anders asked with a smile, as he brought his bloodied hands onto the desk.  
“Much,” Varric muttered, before leaving the small clinic for the compact lounge. “Thanks, Blondie.”  
Marian and Carver soon joined Varric in the small drinking room.  
Anders looked to Hawke and said, “So… I trust it went well.”  
Hawke laughed softly. Only Anders could really put a smile on his face.  
“It went fine. Not exactly to the plan, but-”  
“But it went fine. Good. I’m glad you’re alright.”  
Garrett nodded and inquired this time. “And where’s Bethany?”  
“Oh, she’s asleep,” Anders answered. “She was so worried about all of you. I told her to sleep it off. Poor gal. May fuss a lot, but damn can she sleep. She’s been out for a coupla’ hours. Didn’t even wake up to the racket you guys brought.”  
Garrett laughed again. Anders walked over to the small clinic’s sink and washed his hands off with soap. He dried them off, and walked back around the table to Garrett’s side.  
“And how has your day been, Anders?”  
Anders shrugged. “It’s been the usual; prep the storeroom, cure a few poor folks on the street, and- you know- save lives.”  
“I’m glad we aren’t just taking when we’re here,” Hawke said.  
“It’s not like she needed those jewels,” Anders countered. “I’m glad we heard about this, here in Orlais. Once we get back to Kirkwall, we’ll be good for a while.”  
“Yeah, you’re right,” Garrett said. “Honestly, I’m frustrated.”  
“Why’s that?”  
Garrett’s hands played at the cuffs of his tuxedo suit. “This wealth. My mother… we should have had something to come to Kirkwall to, but we’re out here. Not in Kirkwall, in the estate we should be in. And we have to earn it like this.”  
“We’ll get it all, we’ll get what’s needed to get back your family estate,” Anders reassured. “The work you do- it may not be the best stuff, but you and your sister help people amidst it all. Do you really think the Duchess deserved the all the wealth she was born into?”  
Hawke thought on it.  
“I suppose not.”  
Anders’ face brightened with a smile.  
“Are you two going to make love or not?” Marian yelled gracelessly from the other room.  
Anders gave a breathy chuckle, rubbing the nape of his neck with a hand. Garrett’s jaw tightened, his one fist clenched.  
“Shut it, Marian,” Garrett said through gritted teeth.  
Marian sighed. “Can we at least check out the score?”  
Anders nodded, and the two walked into the lounge room.  
“Shall we?” Varric asked. He was sitting as lazily as before in the car, now on a creaking wooden chair.  
“Yeah,” Garrett stated.  
The five got up from their seats and walked to the back of the truck. Garrett and Carver began unloading hay. The other three watched, knowing full well the two farm boys could handle it all. Neither brothers complained.  
One by one the haystacks came down. From each one, he began to pull out shining jewelry. He pulled out different assortments of silver and gold, sapphire and emerald. By the end of the line, his arms were covered in dazzling trinkets.  
“Quite a load,” remarked Carver, adjusting his cap.  
“Indeed,” Varric laughed, looking over each knickknack.  
Anders walked forward and asked, “How did you even…?”  
“Ah ah,” Varric chided, “a magician never reveals his secrets.”  
Varric walked into the lounging room with the whole bunch, placed the shining jewelry on the table. The stack was taller than him by the time he finished.  
“Don’t forget the diamond encrusted cutlery and antiques!” Called Varric.  
“The what?” Garrett asked.  
Varric explained, “Why do you think things went differently as planned? A little ambition never hurt anybody, brother Hawke.”  
Garrett growled. “That is why it went off.”  
“It is not Varric’s fault, Garrett,” Marian said. “I saw the opportunity. We took it. And we got away. The plan still fell through, and now we perhaps have much more royals to spend.”  
Garrett sighed.  
“I think it was a good enough idea,” Carver said.  
“Thank you, Carver,” Marian said. “See, Garrett? Carver thinks it was a good idea. That’s all that matters. Ever.”  
Carver grumbled, “Don’t need to be like that-”  
“Alright, let’s just unload it all,” Garrett said. “You’re joining us, sister.”  
“Okay, okay,” she said, and the three, Anders included, unloaded the remainder of the spoken items.  
When they returned with it all, the five all found their place around the table.  
Looking at the grand pile, the group one by one began laughing, too loudly probably because soon after Merrill came out from one of the bunk rooms.  
She shyly walked out and saw them all laughing, and she saw all the jewelry. She sat down with them all, and nervously smiled.  
“A pretty sight,” she admired.  
It was by this time that Varric brought out the champagne. Popping open the bottle, its contents spewed clumsily out the mouth, as Varric began to fill cups for each of them. He handed them out with a smile, only for scowling Carver to reject the offer.  
“We need at least somebody sober,” Carver said in excuse. The rest began to drink and went through a few bottles more.  
“So where’s Isabela?” Merrill asked in a drawl.  
Marian laughed at the question, as did Varric. Anders did too, seemingly, even though he really didn’t know why.  
“Isabela is…” Marian had a wobbly hand supporting her chin over the table. “Isabela is entertaining the- uhm…”  
“The Duchess,” Varric chortled. “She’s entertaining Her Grace. So we’ll see her tomorrow.”  
“We needed a suitable distraction,” Garrett said in their defense, looking to Anders who had a drunken smile on his face.  
“And she is distracting…” Marian said wistfully.  
Garrett nodded, and even though he didn’t look as drunk as the rest, he certainly felt like it.  
“And what about Fenris?” Merrill inquired again. She was mindlessly tracing the edge of her champagne cup.  
“He’s… he’s,” Varric said, “shit, where is he?”  
Carver, who was leaning at the doorway, answered frankly. “Fenris chose to walk back. We didn’t have much time, and he simply wanted to walk.”  
Merrill nodded in understanding.  
“He always walks around barefoot,” blurted Marian. “No socks!” She gestured using her fingers like little feet walking on the table. “Like with his toes all… free.” Her smile widened, looking at her fingers.  
Carver snorted.  
Merrill said, “I do the same thing too!”  
“But you’re Dalish,” Marian said dismissively. “He was raised by one of us jackass humans and he still does it.”  
“It is weird, admittedly,” Anders said.  
Garrett nodded absent-mindedly.  
“You elves are weird,” Varric said with a chuckle.  
Silence fell across the room as the champagne was finished. The silence that was only broken when Varric stumbled off of his chair, and walked towards his private room.  
“Good job, everyone,” he said. He slumped audibly onto the bed in the other room, and the springs under the mattress wailed shrilly under his weight.  
Merrill got up and walked back to her room with a slight wobbliness in her step and eventually made it back. “‘Night, everybody!”  
“G’night!” Most returned.  
“Good night, Merrill,” Carver said with a gentle smile. “Do you need help or-”  
“I’m fine,” she said reassuringly. She nearly tripped, and he moved quickly to help. She stood back straight steadily, and she smiled to him. “I’m good.”  
“Alright,” he said cautiously, and he let her walk back to her room.  
When Garrett turned to Marian, he saw her comfortably laid out on the chair with her feet on the table. She had a bottle held tightly to her chest, which seemed to be half full. He felt inclined to take it but thought better of it.  
He looked to his side at Anders, who was just half asleep.  
“You going to bed?”  
Anders peeked one eye open, set on the bearded man. “Do I have to?”  
Garrett chuckled. “I’d suggest it.”  
Anders made a lousy whining noise. “Can’t get up. Carry me, Hawke… carry me to bed.”  
Garrett’s eyes widened.  
“You can’t be serious,” he muttered to himself, more than Anders.  
Anders murmured, “What?”  
“Nothing,” Garrett replied. “I’ll… I’ll do it.”  
He stood up, and nervously hooked his arms under the tall mage. It’d be rough, but Garrett was strong. He could do it easily, he was sure.  
Garrett picked Anders up. The mage chuckled against his chest. Garrett could kill him, he felt ridiculous. Instead however, Garrett carried Anders to the bunk room.  
“So strong,” Hawke heard him say in sleepy admiration.  
Before Garrett left the room, he heard Carver say, “Good night, Hawke… I mean Garrett. Shit.”  
“Good night, little brother,” Garrett drunkenly mumbled, carrying Anders off. Damn, he hoped he wouldn’t forget that when he’d wake up.  
Carver muttered, “Damn dwarf. In my head…”  
Hawke laid Anders on the bottom bunk. Losing his balance, Hawke nearly fell on top of Anders, but he managed to pull himself away in time.  
Slowly and slightly shakily, Garrett climbed onto the bunk atop Anders. He began unbuttoning his tux one button by the next until he fell asleep, drifting into the Fade’s grasp.  
The next morning came with a quickness.  
\---  
Garrett felt horribly groggy when he got up. Hungover, no doubt. No magic in any world could save him from that.  
He rolled over, nearly falling off the top bunk, but he caught himself. He slowly lifted each leg over off the bed, onto the distant ground. The bunks weren’t that tall, and he wasn’t at all short. Garrett managed.  
He turned to see Anders sprawled across the bottom bunk, with a drop of drool slithering from his open mouth. Garrett looked warmly at the sleeping mage.  
Garrett left the bunk room, and walked into the lounging room to see Fenris and Carver doing their own things. The two were quiet and looked somewhat content. Fenris was looking over the morning paper at the table, and Carver was flipping an omelet at the room’s lone stove. In the two’s couple years of knowing each other they seemed to have formed an odd companionship from silence.  
Garrett sat across from Fenris at the table.  
Carver gave a terse greeting, “Good morning.”  
Garrett brought his elbow onto the table and held his forehead. The horrid pain of hangover, and what was maybe the additional pain of falling on his sister the night before, had come to haunt him.  
Carver flipped the omelet, not expecting an answer. Fenris’ focus was still on the newspaper, which may have been in Orlesian. Occasionally, his eyes narrowed towards the numerous ink markings on the yellowed vellum.  
Fenris, Garrett knew, was still learning how to read. Slaves didn’t often get that privilege up north, he had told Garrett, and Garrett believed him. Garrett didn’t have the heart to tell him that he might be reading the wrong language. Of course, if Garrett were wrong and Fenris knew that, he just plainly didn’t want to make an ass of himself.  
While Garrett held his forehead in silence, he observed his friend Fenris. The elf was dressed as he usually did. In a plain button up shirt, with the sleeves rolled, his tight suspenders spanned over both his shoulders. He was wearing borrowed spectacles, that he found useful when reading particularly, and on his head was a tight cap. It brought his white long hair close behind his head. His hair wasn’t greased like usual.  
“How did your evening go?” Hawke asked Fenris.  
Fenris looked at his paper a moment longer, then turned his attention Garrett.  
“It went fine,” Fenris replied. He returned his attention to the paper. Garrett nodded and looked to Carver. His brother was just hardly dressed, wearing the same slacks from last night, suspenders, and a sleeveless undershirt.  
In between the time Garrett had gotten there and spoke with Fenris, Carver had a cigarette lit and wisping gentle smoke from his mouth. Mother would kill him.  
Garrett queried, “Is that going to be food for the whole crew now?”  
“If you help,” Carver said, shrugging, “sure.”  
So, Garrett got up and did. The two brothers began cracking eggs and frying bacon. They made themselves quite busy, and just when Garrett had the coffee going, the others began to file in one by one. First was Merrill, then Anders, and then Varric and Marian. They all looked especially tired, and they were hardly dressed, save for Merrill who was still wearing her nightgown. Varric was shirtless and had his slacks on like Carver. Marian was still wearing her tuxedo shirt which had permeated plenty of sweat over the night’s rest.  
The not-so-early birds each sat on the table. Anders sat in Garrett’s original seat, exactly across from Fenris, and the other three found their place around the table.  
Carver began loading the table with eggs and bacon for the quiet crew. The most talkative of the bunch was Merrill, who was excited about a dream she had had. She rarely got them. The young elf recounted her dreams to the others, but as she continued her memory of them slowly dwindled.  
“Oh, Creators,” she said, confounded, “I don’t think I can remember much more…”  
Varric comforted her. “No worries, Daisy. I never have dreams. It isn’t that bad. Just makes the night nice and quick.”  
“But this one was…” she began. “This one was different… Oh, and I just can’t remember why.”  
The table was full of food by then, and Garrett had coffee at the ready. He began pouring small amounts into tin cups for each of them when the lounge room door burst open with a kick.  
The crew all hopped in their chairs.  
“Hello, beautiful children of the Maker!” Isabela called. The tensed few relaxed, seeing that it was Issy. They still felt annoyed though.  
She slammed the door behind her, just as loudly. The group winced again.  
Isabela sauntered through the small lounge room. In her left hand was her pretty boots, and in her right was what looked like a very heavy night coat, all bundled, with her dress from the night before wrapped under it. The dress was wearing was certainly different. It was more intricate in design and a prettier blue color that complemented her dark skin well. It looked expensive, and was most certainly borrowed.  
Her ‘walk of shame’ seemed to have treated her well.  
She hung her coat and dress on one of the couches, and plopped herself onto the seat Carver had pulled out for himself. She began eating with the others, while Carver resigned and joined Garrett, eating on plates off from the table.  
“And how was your evening, Mistress of Rivain?” Varric inquired.  
She seemed awfully satisfied with herself as she answered, “Lovelier than you’d care to know.”  
Varric chuckled.  
Marian spoke up, saying deviantly, “Wish I could’ve been there.”  
“I do too, darling,” Isabela smiled. “It is all too bad the Duchess has more… focused preferences.”  
Isabela always deviated from the modern style. From the way she wore her hair long and loose to how she never wore a hat to bind it all. Save for the occasional tricorn, which she kept insisting would be the next fad.  
It was around this time that there was a knock at their room door. The group all looked at eachother expectantly. Carver sighed and got up.  
“It must be Bethany,” he grumbled and opened the door.  
He was right. Bethany was standing at the door with a basket of bread, what looked to be cheeses too, and a closed umbrella. She was dressed modestly, in a long wool coat that buttoned up above her chest. It’s frills spread far from her collar, and on her head was an exaggerated hat. A hat Garrett was all too familiar with seeing, especially after the busy night before, and it was when she walked in with a frown on her face that he had realized where she’d been.  
“You all missed today’s Chant,” she said grumpily, as she walked into the room. She pulled her dress with her as she walked, using the hand she had to spare. She placed the bread basket on the full table, and turned to place her umbrella against the wall. She plopped down onto one of the couches.  
“Come on, Sunshine,” Varric said, “you know we just got back from the big score last night.”  
Anders remarked dryly, “We, as well, don’t appreciate the Chantry.”  
“You don’t,” Bethany said crossly. Marian quickly chimed in to halt any argument.  
“Sister- I’m sorry, it’s just that we just woke up. It was a long night, and we came back with plenty of things,” Marian explained. “As well, we didn’t desire to face Sebastian’s criticisms so early in the morning.”  
“We should have never brought him with us,” Varric grumbled.  
Garrett nodded in agreement.  
“We just really don’t like him,” Carver explained to his sister.  
“He’s bland,” Varric said.  
“Too clean,” Isabela said.  
Anders added, “Self-righteous.”  
Fenris snorted, sensing irony.  
“And, not our type of company,” Marian said apologetically. “Sorry, sister, we know you like the Chantry boy-”  
“I don’t like him,” Bethany said, defensively suddenly. “Well- he’s a good person. I like good people. And his name is Sebastian. Call him that. Not ‘Chantry boy.’”  
“See, I much prefer ‘Chantry boy,’” Varric said.  
“ Yeah, me too,” Marian said to him, with a smile.  
“It fits,” Anders agreed.  
“Just… please stop,” Bethany said, slumping back against her seat.  
Most of the group snickered as Garrett brought the bread out from the basket. Garret cut it and toasted slices with his hand. The butter Bethany bought was spread.  
“If I may say, darling,” Isabela began with an innocent tone, “to hold such attractions in like that… you’ll just blow up, Bethany.”  
Bethany’s brow furrowed, and she chose not to fret too much about it. That was what she learned about Isabela. To Isabela, sex was a game. Not love.  
She took a bite from the toast and gave Garrett a slightly impressed frown. “Not bad.”  
Garret nodded and finished cutting up toast for the crew.  
Bethany refused her slice. Marian gladly took hers. It was about a time after the second meal that Bethany spoke up.  
“So I imagine you were successful then,” she said, looking at each of them anticipatingly.  
Varric chuckled and answered, “More than, Sunshine, don’t worry.”  
She nodded and readjusted herself in her seat, so she laid her back against the couch. “Good. Okay.”  
The group conversed more over the hour. Varric and Marian recounted their part of the evening, and later Isabela gave a vivid detailed story of her own. Varric tried writing it down, until Garrett broke off the story after noticing how the younger twins’ expressions had turned tomato red. It was after all that when Varric brought the conversation back to the matter at hand.  
“We should probably get to the jewels now. Broody, you did put it in the safe place, right?”  
Fenris nodded, his paper folded in his lap. “Yes. Not a very clever place, if I can say.”  
“I’ll worry about that, Broody,” Varric mumbled as he got up from his seat. The others pushed back and watched as the two stout creatures brought their arms to the table and brought it off and away from the carpet underneath it.  
Varric bent over, again with a grumble, and flipped the carpet over itself to reveal an odd set of floorboards that contrasted from the well masoned ground. He crawled over to it, the others still watching, and he pulled out the boards to reveal the gathered stash.  
“Great,” he laughed. The others joined to pull the trinkets and baubles out from the pit. Garrett and Marian quickly pushed the food on the table to the side for space as Varric dropped them on the table.  
“So, who’s the fence?” Bethany asked, sitting back down on the couch.  
Varric was silent.  
Marian opened her mouth to speak when a vigorous knocking hit the door to the lounge room. Carver and Garrett raised their attention to the door, and quickly the older brother strode to open it.  
Outside was a heavy set elf, a foot shorter than Garrett himself. He had a very concerned look strewn about his face. Sweat sheened his forehead.  
“Merlet,” Garrett addressed.  
“Hawke, ser, the police are in the area,” the old elf said urgently.  
“Well, that can’t be that bad,” Marian called from the table, “they won’t find us.”  
“They’ll be on this warehouse soon,” Merlet insisted.  
Garrett turned to look at Marian with a cross face.  
She relented. “Fine. We’ll leave.”  
Garrett nodded. “Let’s pack.”  
“Yes,” Merlet agreed, walking off. “We’ll have the back door ready for you.”  
The Hawke brother closed the door, and everybody got up from their seats.


End file.
